


If You Only Knew

by purewanderlust



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt over on Tumblr. Adam's in love with Blake--his married, decidedly straight best friend--and it's slowly killing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Only Knew

**Author's Note:**

> The exact prompt this is a fill for is as follows: "an angsty one-sided I’m-in-love-with-my-best-friend-and-it’s-killing-me fic, where it starts affecting Adam’s relationships with coworkers and Blake and his happiness and health, and then something happens and Blake finds out but he’s totally down with it and it ends all good and they’re together" So the angst is not forever, peeps. Also, I guess I should note that I was technically working on this before the prompt appeared, but it just fit so nicely that I had to finish it to taste. Title from the Maroon 5 song of the same name.
> 
> Also of note: this is my first Shevine fic, so please don't castigate me for any discrepancies in characterization. This is also my first season actually watching The Voice.
> 
> One more thing: No disrespect is intending by this story and I am treating these characters as if they are fictional. This should not be considered a portrayal of the real musicians off whom they are based. Yadda yadda.

This is the stupidest fucking thing Adam has ever done. 

And that’s saying quite a lot, because he’s kind of a master at doing stupid shit. But nothing has ever reached this level of pure, unadulterated idiocy.

“…are you listenin’ to a damn thing I’m sayin’, Adam?” demands Blake, pulling him from his self-depreciation. The country singer is looking at him, brow furrowed, undisguised concern in his blue eyes. “You’ve been somewhere else all evenin’. What’s botherin’ ya?”

Adam shakes his head automatically. “I’m fine, man,” he says by rote, “Just tired.”

Blake doesn’t look completely convinced, but he lets it drop, picking up his story where he left off. “Anyways, I think Miranda wanted to--”

“I think I’m gonna go after all,” Adam says abruptly, cutting him off. He picks up his glass and drains the last of his lukewarm beer so he doesn’t have to look at Blake’s confused expression. “Just…I’m beat and we have shooting tomorrow, so…”

“Yeah,” Blake agrees, “”Course, man, don’t worry about it.”  He gets to his feet at the same time as Adam, watching as he shrugs on his leather jacket and fishes out his wallet to pay for the beers. “You sure you’re good to drive home?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Adam says distractedly. He tosses a few bills down on the table and turns to leave, throwing a “See you tomorrow” over his shoulder as he beats his retreat. If Blake responds, Adam is gone too quick to hear it.

 Adam drives home, his mind echoing blank, all of his attention completely focused on driving and trying not to think. He makes it all the way into the front hallway, door locked behind him, before he realizes he has a text message.

It’s from Blake because of course it is, and all it says is _lemme kno if u need anythin_ but it makes Adam’s heart clench, his emotions swinging from guilty to angry to sad.

Yeah, Adam’s done a lot of idiotic crap in his life, but falling in love with Blake Shelton really takes the cake.

*

Adam isn’t sure exactly when it started, when the bromance (god, he _hates_ that word) that the media loved so much turned into something more in his brain. He wonders if there’s something wrong with him, if he’s that suggestible that joking about being in love could actually cause him to develop these feelings. Then he thinks maybe this is some weird kind of early mid-life crisis or something because goddamnit, he’s way too old to be questioning his sexuality. Over Blake fucking Shelton of all people, too.

The only thing Adam does really know for certain is when he finally became aware of it.

The producers had brought them into the studio for some promotional shots for season six of The Voice when it happened. It was nothing special, just another day in the life. Adam remembers waking up that morning and groaning into his pillow at the realization that he had somewhere to be and thus had to get up at a reasonable hour. There was nothing unusual to separate this day from any other.

He was looking forward to seeing the other coaches again, though. Shakira was an absolute delight and Usher’s quick wit made him fun to be around. And yeah, he was looking forward to seeing that big lug, Blake, too. They were friends, after all. Nothing weird about that. 

The studio was already bustling with life when he slipped in the door. Carson caught him almost immediately with a warm handshake and a smile. Shakira was right behind him with a squeeze around the waist and a peck on his cheek. Usher had already been dragged to the corner and pushed down into a makeup chair, but he nodded and gave Adam’s a thumbs-up from across the room.

Adam was about to ask where Blake was when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist from behind and lifted him off his feet in a rib-cracking hug.

“Damn Levine,” came Blake’s voice in his ear. “You’re as skinny as a beanpole. Didja eat _anything_ on hiatus?”

“Mostly Chinese carryout,” Adam admitted as he was set back on his feet. He turned to face Blake, a huge smile spreading across his face despite himself. “I imagine you gorged yourself on steak and potatoes, huh, Big Country?” 

“You know it!” Blake laughed, throwing an arm over Adam’s shoulder. “It’s good to see ya, buddy.” 

It hit Adam then, like a punch to the gut; the country singer’s booming laugh and shit-eating grin, the way his blue, blue eyes danced when he was amused, and the warm line of his arm across Adam’s back. He absolute loved the jackass. Holy shit. Adam reacted about as well one would expect under the circumstances, all the air whooshing out of his lungs, his whole body going tense and locking up like he’d been turned to stone.

Blake didn’t seem to notice and makeup came and dragged them apart before he had a chance to pick up on Adam’s sudden dramatic change in mood.

He managed to keep it together for the duration of the shoot, and begged off from drinks with the other coaches afterwards, claiming he had something to deal with.

They didn’t need to know the details.

Adam doesn’t like to think about how long it was there before he realized, or how obvious he is or who might know. He doesn’t want to look at his friends and see pity or confusion on their faces. It’s bad enough that he has to face how fucking stupid he is, he doesn’t really want to deal with other people knowing, too.

After his initial breakdown, Adam had given himself a pep talk. You’re not going to tell anybody about this, you aren’t going to let this negatively impact your job or your friendship with Blake. You will not, under any circumstances let Blake find out about this. Even if he weren’t married, he’s sure as hell not gay and, even if he was secretly bi, Nashville wouldn’t take any better to that than L.A. would to finding out about you. Basically, shut the fuck up and dust off your acting skills. It has to go away eventually, right?

At first, it had been fairly easy; once he’d gotten over the first shock of it, he went back to teasing and tormenting Blake on a regular basis. Sure, there was this new twist in his stomach every time he looked at the guy, but he was gonna get past that.

But it’s been months now, and things aren’t getting better. If anything, they’re getting worse. Ditching Blake at the bar tonight had been bad enough, but now he’s sitting on the sofa, working his way through a six pack and strumming his guitar wondering if he can write something that’s both cathartic and vague enough that he can release it without the tabloids guessing at his secret. It’s pathetic.

Adam sets the guitar aside and flings himself back on the sofa, and arm over his face. They’re shooting the first of the battle rounds tomorrow, so he’s gotta get his game face back on before he sees Blake again.

*

Adam isn’t sure how he makes it through shooting the battle rounds.  His focus is shot and he feels like he’s probably doing his team a disservice, but it’s taking all his energy to even be here, let alone actually paying attention and making decisions.

He can tell the other coaches are concerned, but they don’t want to call him out in the middle of filming. Blake, in particular, keeps shooting worried, furtive looks at Adam, but Adam stays in his seat and tries to keep his tone light, though he can’t really bring himself to banter with the country singer like he usually does. Thank god these aren’t the live shows, or he’d probably be getting inundated with fan tweets: _Trouble in paradise, @adamlevine? Why are you ignoring @blakeshelton? #thevoice #shevine_. Ugh. 

Somehow, they finally wrap and Adam is up and out of his chair before anyone has an opportunity to say anything to him. He hears Blake call his name from behind him, but he ducks his head and keeps going. He makes it to his dressing room, and locks the door behind him. He leans against the wall and slides down to the floor, resting his forehead against his knees and just breathing for a few minutes.

The reprieve doesn’t last long. There’s an abrupt rapping at the door and then Shakira’s voice. “Adam? _Querido_ , are you okay?”

“Fine, I’m fine.” He calls back, but makes no move to get up and open the door. 

There’s a long moment of silence and then: “Would you let me come in?”

Adam only hesitates for a moment before he climbs to his feet. It’s only Shakira, after all. “Yeah, just a minute.”

He glances into the mirror, arranges his expression into something neutral, and opens the door.

Shakira is standing there, looking apologetic, and that’s probably because Blake is with her, a few steps in front of her. He smacks a big hand down the door, preemptively stopping Adam from shutting it in his face.

“Knew ya wouldn’t answer if it was me,” he grumbles, shouldering his way into the room, completely ignoring Adam’s protests. “Thanks Shakira.”

She makes an affirmative noise and scampers off down the hallway. Adam takes a moment to scowl after her and then reluctantly turns back to face Blake.

The country singer is leaning against the wall, arms crossed with an expectant look on his face. He’s taking up more space than seems possible and Adam frowns at him.

“What d’you want, Blake?”

Blake’s expression turns thunderous. “I wanna know what’s wrong with you! Somethin’s clearly botherin’ you and I’m worried about ya!”

“I’m fine,” Adam tries again and Blake holds up a hand to stop him.

“Spare me the bullshit, Levine. If you don’t wanna tell me what your problem is, you don’t have to, but I’d’a thought that we were good enough friends by now to not lie about crap that’s buggin’ us.”

“We are!” Adam protests, “I just…this isn’t something that I can talk about right now, okay? It’s hardly something I can think about.”

Something in his tone must get through to Blake because his expression softens. “A’right. Can I at least buy you a couple beers? Usher said there’s some party that and that we gotta come.”

Adam wants to beg off, but the sincerity in Blake’s expression stops him cold. He can’t say no to that face. “Oh, alright.” He agrees, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Just gimme a minute to wash this shit off and change.”

Blake’s face lights up then, and Adam thinks it’s almost worth it, even though he’s sure he’ll regret it before the night is over.

* 

When Adam wakes up the next morning, there’s an insistent drum beat rat-a-tat-tatting painfully through his brain. He groans quietly and presses his face further into his pillow, as if he can escape the hangover. He feels kind of like death warmed over. 

He doesn’t really remember much of last night, and then it occurs to him that he has no idea how he got home. Immediately on the tail end of that realization, he suddenly becomes aware that he’s not in his own bed.

What the hell _happened_ last night? He tries to focus, pushing against the gaps in his memory, but he only gets a vague impression of flashing, colored lights, a sweaty body pressed along his side, and a burst of warning pain in his temples, so he gives that up pretty quickly. Probably more important to determine where he is now, anyway.

With another groan, he rolls onto his back and opens his eyes ever so slightly, squinting up at the ceiling. There doesn’t seem to be any bright light shining anywhere, so he opens his eyes and hauls himself up into a sitting position. The room spins alarmingly for a moment and his stomach rolls. After a few deep breaths, he’s got his bearings back and is studying the room.

It’s dark and cool, the blinds drawn, and it’s vaguely familiar. Nicely but generically furnished. Blake’s. He’s in the guest room at Blake’s. The realization calms the fear that he had gone home with a stranger, or been kidnapped, but a new anxiety rises up to replace it; Blake was obviously there for Adam’s blackout last night, God only knew what had gone on.

Adam turns to get out of bed and spots a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the side table. His lips twitch towards a smile in spite of the circumstances. Leave it to Blake to be thoughtful about a hangover.

The clock next to water reads 6:09 am, which hopefully means Blake is still asleep. If Adam can just hurry and get dressed, he might make it out of here without encountering the older man. 

He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and belatedly realizes that he’s wearing nothing but his boxers and t-shirt. Adam feels vaguely unsettled at the thought that Blake might have undressed him, but that train of thought leads nowhere good, so he pushes it from his mind. His jeans and leather jacket are draped over the chair in the corner, so he gets to his feet and staggers over.

It takes Adam several tries to get his pants on right, hopping around on one foot and trying to make as little noise as possible. Once that’s finally done, he shoves his feet into his boots and shrugs on his jacket. 

He’s feeling moderately less hellish now that he’s dressed, so he creeps to the bedroom door and out into the hallway with little trouble. He makes a pit stop in the nearest bathroom to piss and rinse his mouth out a little, and then he’s down the stairs and headed for the entrance hallway. He thinks he’s home free, and then Blake’s head pokes around the corner from the living room.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’?” he demands, stepping out into the hallway. He’s still in pajamas, plaid flannel pants and a grey t-shirt that’s seen better days. His hair is wild and curly, sticking out in about nine different directions and he’s still blinking sleep from his eyes. He looks like the best thing Adam’s ever seen.

“I was just gonna get outta your hair…” Adam says lamely, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. 

“Your car ain’t here.” Blake points out and Adam can’t think of anything to say to that. An insidious silence settles over them and they stare at each other from opposite ends of the entrance hallway. Adam would give just about anything to be somewhere else right now.

“What’s goin’ on with you, man?” Blake asks for what has to be the hundredth time in the past few days. “I know I said I’d let it go, but you’re really startin’ to freak me out. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Why do you keep asking me? My answer isn’t going to change.” Adam snaps, his voice harsher than he means for it to be.

Blake’s eyes narrow dangerously. “I keep asking because you keep getting worse and worse. I wanna help you, ya jackass!” He strides away from Adam and then turns back, pointing his finger in Adam’s face. “We go out last night and you start downin’ shots like it’s goin’ out of style. Then you start lookin’ at me like I kicked your puppy or somethin’ and then you just _vanished_ and when I finally found ya, you’re up against an alley wall with some guy you don’t even know!”

Adam feels all the color draining out of his face. “I didn’t--”

“You don’t even remember any of this shit, do ya? You were blacked out the whole time,” Blake says, his voice dropping to something gentler, probably in reaction the expression on Adam’s face. “Is that what this is all about? You havin’ some kind of gay crisis or somethin’?” 

Blake takes a step towards him and, without thinking, Adam flinches back. The hurt surprise on Blake’s face lodges in his heart like a piece of sharp glass and he immediately feels like an asshole.

“It’s not. I’m.” Adam shakes his head lamely, “I can’t explain this to you, man.”

Blake comes another step closer, hands raised like Adam’s a wild animal he’s trying to corral. When Adam doesn’t make any sort of move, Blake puts those big hands on his shoulders and ducks down to look him in the eyes. “You could at least try.”

Adam looks away and then back, his heart pounding. Blake is too close, just a breath between their faces, and he doesn’t even seem to be aware of it. If Adam wanted, he could just lean in that last half an inch…

“Blake,” he whispers and his voice comes out pleading. “I—“ he licks his bottom lip unconsciously, starting to sway forward and Blake’s eyes widen in shock, or maybe alarm. It’s enough to snap him out of it. “I, I--I can’t, I have to go.” He shoves at Blake’s chest and even though he’s got six inches and fifty pounds on Adam, Blake staggers back, his surprise giving Adam an advantage. He slips from between Blake and the wall and is out the front door before Blake has even moved.

He makes it all the way down the drive before he remembers that his car isn’t here. Adam fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket with shaking fingers and calls for a cab. Blake hasn’t come after him and Adam’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed.

* 

Adam spends the rest of the day nursing his hangover and dreading the evening. They’re supposed to be at the studio to film part two of the battle rounds at six. He wonders what would happen if he called Carson and told him that he was violently ill and couldn’t make it. 

He keeps playing the encounter with Blake over and over again in his mind. The shocked expression on his face when Adam leaned in. How quickly he stepped back when Adam pushed him away. The disgust that he didn’t see, but had no doubt had appeared on his friend’s face as soon as Adam had turned away.

He doesn’t even realize he’s hyperventilating until black spots start blooming in front of his eyes. Adam gasps for air and then collapses onto the couch, putting his head between his knees and breathing as deep as he can until he doesn’t feel like he’s suffocating anymore.

It makes for a really long afternoon. 

When it’s almost time for him to be at the studio, Adam takes a quick shower and throws on some clean clothes before heading out to the waiting taxi, his hair still damp.

He arrives at the studio with just minutes to spare and is immediately swept off to makeup without having seen any of the other coaches. When they finish with him, he’s sent to the stage and he goes, trepidation mounting the closer he gets to the coaches chairs.

Sharika is perched on the edge of Usher’s chair, and they’re having an urgent whispered conversation that stops abruptly when he comes up. Blake is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey guys,” he says weakly, “What’s going on?” 

Shakira levels him with a stare that would wound a better man than Adam. “Carson can’t find Blake.”

Adam starts. “Can’t find…?”

Usher shrugs. “He didn’t show up for call,” he explains. “He’s not answering his phone. Carson sent an AD over to his place and he’s not there. None of us have any idea what could’ve happened.” There’s a careful emphasis on the word ‘us’ and Adam bristles.

“What, you think I do?”

Usher just looks at him, his expression neutral. Shakira isn’t as quiet with her thoughts.

“Adam, you and Blake were arguing at the club last night, and then you left together,” she says bluntly. “If you don’t know anything about what might have happened with Blake, we should call the police, because you’re probably the last person who saw him.”

Adam scrubs a hand through his hair. “Shit. Okay, wait,” he says, “Just, lemme try and call him.”

“He’s not answering his phone,” Usher reminds him.

“Let me try.” Adam pulls his phone out and walks across the stage, hitting speed dial number one and putting the phone to his ear.

It rings. Once, twice, three times and Adam’s sure it’s going to go to voicemail, but then there’s a click and Blake’s voice, softer than he’s ever heard it: “Adam.”

“Blake,” he retorts, trying to keep his voice steady. “Where are you man, everyone’s freaking out.”

There’s a long pause and Adam thinks Blake might’ve hung up on him. “I’m not really feeling well --“

“Bullshit,” Adam says and it surprises him almost as much as it does Blake. “This is because of what happened this morning, isn’t it?”

Blake doesn’t answer, but the silence speaks volumes. Adam has to work to swallow past the lump in his throat before he can continue.

“Blake, man. You have to know I’d never…it’s not like. Shit.” Adam paces the stage, ignoring the curious looks Usher and Shakira are throwing his way. “You’re my best friend, y’know? And that supercedes anything else. You’re always gonna be my best friend. As long as you’ll have me. Okay?” 

For a long moment, Blake doesn’t say anything, but Adam can hear his ragged breathing on the other end of the line.

“Best friends,” he repeats. “Got it.” Another awkward pause and then: “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

“Okay, that’s. That’s good.” Adam says. Something still feels wrong, but before he can ask, Blake’s disconnected the call. He pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the screen, wishing for just a moment that he’d never even met Blake Shelton.

*

Blake arrives at the studio in twenty minutes and he’s whisked off to makeup, with an irritable and concerned Carson keeping step the whole way. Adam sinks further into his chair and takes another gulp of his coffee, wishing he had something stronger. 

When they finally drag Blake back to the stage, the cameras are getting into place and Adam knows he’s not going to have a chance to talk to Blake until this is over. Not that it matters much, because the country singer is resolutely not looking at him.

He’s not talking to Adam either, no matter how hard he tries, and everyone can tell something’s wrong. An uneasy murmur passes through the studio audience, the contestants are affected, and even Usher’s neutral façade is starting to crack. Shakira is talking twice as much, and three times as fast to make up for Blake and Adam’s silence, her words tripping over themselves and right into Spanish and back again while Blake stares stonily ahead.

They got through the first two battles like this and then Blake and Adam hit their buttons at the same time to try and steal one of Usher’s performers. Immediately, Blake’s shoulders tense and he shoots Adam a look and then stares down at his own hands. 

“I really liked your rendition of that song, man,” Adam tells the contestant, his mind only half focused on the words. “It had a really great energy that we haven’t yet seen from anyone else. You got a stage presence now. I’d love to add you to my team because we need someone with that kind of insight, and I can help you to tweak your performance skills.

Carson and the performer (God, Adam doesn’t even remember his name) look to Blake expectantly and, for a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. Adam’s getting anxious enough that it’s starting to get hard to breathe again.

Finally Blake opens his mouth. “Don’t trust Adam,” he says in a fair approximation of a joking tone, “I’m the coach for you.”

He might say more, but Adam can’t really hear it over the rush of white noise in his ears. _Don’t trust Adam…_

He vaguely sees Shakira making a panicked motion with her arm, presumably to try and keep the cameras from focusing on Adam’s complete and total breakdown. Then he hears the kid on stage pick Team Blake and really, he can’t blame him for that.

It’s not until he feels Shakira’s hands on his shoulders that he realizes he’s hyperventilating again. “Adam, honey, breathe!”

“We need to cut!” Usher says from somewhere to his left, but Adam is just trying to catch his breath because Blake hates him, he doesn’t trust him anymore, Adam fucked it all up.

“Move, lemme see ‘im,” as if summoned by Adam’s thoughts, Blake is there, gently herding Shakira out of the way and taking her place in front of Adam. He lifts a hand like he’s thinking of putting it on Adam’s shoulder and then thinks better of it, pulling back and gripping the edge of the table instead. “Dammit, Levine, you gotta calm down.”

He sounds a little frantic, like he doesn’t know what to do, and Adam looks up at him in confusion. Blake’s eyes are wide and one of his hands is hovering over Adam’s elbow like he’s not sure whether or not he should touch him.

“C’mon, buddy, deep breaths, that’s it.” The concern in his voice is so genuine and Adam doesn’t know what to think. The man was hardly looking at him earlier.

Slowly but surely, he gets his breathing under control. It’s only when the fog of anxiety is completely lifted from his mind that he realizes that he just had a full-blown panic attack in front of a live studio audience.

“Oh my God,” he says out loud. “Fuck.”

“Blake, why don’t you take Adam back to his dressing room,” Carson suggests. “I need to go talk to the producer; we’ll pick up filming later.”

Blake glances over his shoulder and nods, then takes a step back so Adam has room to get to his feet. He doesn’t offer a hand, just watches with that stupid worried look still plastered on his face. Shakira and Usher are standing slightly behind, both wearing similar expressions.

“I’m fine,” Adam says, his voice coming out hoarse. “I can get back to the dressing room on my own.”

“Sorry, Rockstar,” Blake answers, before he’s even finished speaking, “Can’t let you do that. C’mon.” He turns and starts walking offstage then and Adam has no choice but to follow. He keeps his head down and tries to ignore all the tittering voices of the audience. God, he hopes there was a confidentiality clause in their applications.

They make it to Adam’s dressing room without any more issues and as soon as he’s through the door, Adam goes straight for the mini-fridge and a bottle of beer.  “Want one?” He says without looking at Blake.

“Nah,” the country singer replies, shutting the door behind him with a click. “Adam, man, we gotta talk.”

“We really, really don’t.” Adam says immediately.

“Oh? Because if I’m remembering correctly, you just had a complete nervous breakdown on camera and I ain’t dumb enough to think it doesn’t have anything to do with what happened this mornin’.”

Adam doesn’t answer, picking at the label on his bottle.

“Dude, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Blake makes a frustrated noise and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Shit, man.”

“I…wait, what are you apologizing for?” Adam asks, confused. Blake glances up at him, equally bewildered.

“For this mornin’, when I asked you about that guy from the club last night…” he elaborates, looking deeply uncomfortable. “It ain’t my business and assumin’ that just because you were with one dude that you’d want…I mean, that’s fuckin’ uncool.”

“Huh?”

“I’m not a complete idiot, Adam, I know that bein’ gay doesn’t mean you’re automatically attracted to all guys.” Blake snaps, color rising in his cheeks. “I just…I get kinda stupid when it comes to you.”

Adam stares at him. He’s still completely lost, but somehow this doesn’t sound like Blake’s angry with him for nearly kissing him.

The longer he stays silent, the more agitated Blake becomes.

“So?” he finally says when it becomes apparent that Adam isn’t going to contribute to the conversation. “Can we just go back to bein’ friends and pretend this never happened? I swear it won’t happen again.”

Adam swallows down the anxiety that’s threatening again. “What if, um. What if I don’t want to be friends?”

Blake’s face falls, but Adam raises a hand to cut off anything he might say. His heart is pounding out of control in his chest. “I just mean…I feel like we’ve had a miscommunication. I thought you were pissed at me?”

“Why would I be pissed at you?” Blake asks, genuine confusion written in every line of his face. Adam takes a deep breath.

“Well. I—I thought you’d figured out how I actually feel about you and were disgusted or something.”

Blake’s eyebrows come together, but Adam thinks he might detect a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “How d’you actually feel about me?”

“Oh, um. I’m kinda crazy about you. Like, like…I might be in love with you?” It comes out as more of a question than a statement, but it hardly matters, because as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Blake’s across the room, crowding him against the wall, palms flat on either side of Adam’s head.

“I swear to God, Levine, if you’re fucking with me right now…” he growls and Adam makes a hysterical noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“No, no, c’mon man, I wouldn’t do that.” He’s finding it hard to focus, what with the way Blake’s got him boxed in. “Are you…?”

“Completely gone for you?” Blake finishes. “Christ, Adam, you have no idea.” And then before Adam can open his mouth and talk this to death, he leans down and kisses him.

It takes Adam a few seconds to get with the program because this is not at all how he saw this conversation turning out. He wants to kiss Blake back, badly, but there’s just one thing stopping him. Adam may be a lot of things, but he’s not a cheater. He puts his hand on Blake’s chest and pushes and the country singer goes easily, looking a little crestfallen.

“What’s the matter? Do you not wanna…? C’mon man, you’re givin’ me whiplash here.”

Adam looks up at him, still struck dumb by the obvious want he sees reflected back at him from Blake’s face. “It’s pretty much the only thing I want,” he answers. “But Blake, what about Miranda?”

Unexpectedly, Blake starts to laugh. It’s immensely frustrating for several reasons, not least of which that he’s still got Adam pinned to the wall and is especially attractive when he’s laughing, even if it means he’s not answering the question.

Blake seems to realize Adam isn’t amused though, and he pulls himself together. “Adam…Miranda and I got married because we both realized that being country stars that couldn’t keep a relationship with someone of the opposite sex was gonna catch the media’s attention sooner or later.”

“You mean…” Adam says, slowing digesting his meaning. Blake nods.

“She’s one of my best friends,” the country singer explains, “But she’s never been anything but. ‘Ran’s got her own gal, she don’t need or want me. In fact, she’s been trying to get me to make a move on you for years.”

Adam bit back a giggle. “What was stopping you?” He asks, his voice dropping to a purr as he leans in towards Blake.

“Y’know, I dunno. It probably had somethin’ to do with the worry that you’d totally freak out. Maybe on camera.” He gives a dramatic sigh. “Being in love with a neurotic little jackass is hard, sometimes.”

Adam shoves at his chest but this time Blake doesn't budge. “I hate you,” he says, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the huge smile on his face.

Blake grins, his whole face lit up as he leans back in to capture Adam’s lips in another kiss.

“Somehow, I doubt that.”


End file.
